The desert wind has always felt more like family to you than the Atreides.

The sand demands nothing. It doesn’t ask for loyalty, or respect, or love. It only asks you to survive, and that’s the one thing you do well.

You’ve spent years away from them your “family” because you prefer the silence of the dunes over the hypocrisy of a surname that never felt like yours. The Fremen accepted you with caution, but they accepted you. And you learned to move among their shadows, to breathe the hot dust of Arrakis as if it were your own breath. That’s why, when you hear footsteps approaching the entrance of your sietch, you know they’re not enemies. The desert would have warned you first.

Ray Toro, patient warrior, quiet visionary, the man Stilgar calls “brother” with true trust. His dark curls are hidden beneath a Fremen cloak, and his eyes always warm lock onto you as if they could pierce straight through your armor.

“I was looking for you,” he says bluntly. You don’t answer. The answer is obvious: everyone is looking for you. But only he dares to find you.

Ray steps inside slowly, respecting your space the way only he knows how. He has that calm aura that manages to irritate and soothe you at the same time.

“It’s your family,” he adds. “They need you.”

Ray lowers his gaze for a moment, as if choosing every word carefully. As if he knows you are a mine buried beneath the sand one wrong step and you explode.

“Lady Jessica spoke with me,” he finally admits.